Crimson Message
by DaemonSyndrome
Summary: "I owe you nothing, but will you be satisfied with this?" DeiIta; challenge


Disclaimer: Masashi Kishimoto holds rights to Naruto, but the ideas in this story belong to me.

A/N: This is the product of a personal challenge; something just to test myself. I have no extreme liking toward either of the paired characters listed below, but from time to time it's interesting to branch outside my normal exploits, ya know? And, as a little interesting note, in the beginning before I revised the direction of this Itachi was intended to be seme, but then I got some sick amusement out of pinning Itachi on the bottom instead. I just have that type of fetish for the stereotypical semes being topped! Aha. Anyway, please read and review.

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**Crimson Message:**

"_I started a joke... which started the whole world crying... oh, but I didn't see that the joke was on me...oh no." ~Faith No More_

[Deidara x Uchiha Itachi Yaoi FanFiction Challenge]

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Emotionless crimson hues gaze passively up into accusing eyes without the slightest hint of fear or compassion as hands lock around a slender throat. The controller of those dangerous hands is stricken by the bane of fate, swallowing hard to stomach the fact that he must follow along an organization he never wanted any part in. One aspect never changes, no matter the course of things, and that is: his hate for _Uchiha Itachi_.

From the second their paths crossed, seemingly only yesterday, the sheer essence of his displeasure has echoed that name. If that damn Uchiha didn't exist, if those loathsome eyes never captivated him, than he would be living his life freely doing what he loves most—bringing art to life with an explosive **BANG**! However, once carefree habits were striped from him cruelly without warning when Itachi and Kisame arrived after one of his jobs with a proposition. Immediately, disinterest urged him to refuse their offer yet, admittedly, pride took over, though he remains convinced of definitely being the stronger one at the time. Bowing down as the weaker one is something he cannot accept, especially since the disguised technique ultimately costing him victory is still just a dirty trick.

Those cursed eyes made him believe the upper-hand resided tightly in his grasp only for him to realize the masked trap ensnaring him. He couldn't have predicted that the second their eyes met a jutsu had trapped him in a losing battle. Now, further down the line, here he is—another caged member bound by orders to achieve a mission he couldn't give a damn about in the slightest. All he cares about is his art—nothing else is as satisfying. Which is exactly why he holds so much hatred for _Uchiha Itachi;_ the bane in his life, who could care less about what he has done to him, what life he has stolen away from him. To those empty eyes he is nothing more than a speck of dust marring priceless furniture; just something to just be brushed aside without the tiniest amount of recognition.

And yet, tonight he has decided that enough is enough. No more will he be cast aside or treated so coldly by his enemy. Uchiha Itachi will realize his strength, his intelligence, and his intense fury. With all his efforts, he will squeeze a response out of those emotionless features with each tightening of his hands on the man's throat. "I won't stand for you ignoring me anymore, bastard!" He screams, basking in the fires of his raging thoughts and emotions.

To his utter surprise and aggravation, the flesh in his grasp shifts just enough to turn those hues away from him. Everything remains completely unreadable yet the vulnerable action tempts him into believing that this is somehow an offering of defeat. That only outrages him more, causing his muscles to tighten as he clenches his teeth and growls. Why must it always be like this? Each attempt only brings him further away from his goal, as if those terrible eyes have transferred their curse onto him since that day. He cannot escape because of them, and now they won't even look at him in all that he has become because of them. "Why won't you fight me! Say something already, yeah!" He snaps in frustration, nails sinking deeper into tender skin.

Itachi continues to stare off solemnly, neither flinching or showing extreme discomfort. In the corridors of his mind the Uchiha knows he deserves this, even if he is bound to follow orders given. This blond haired man, Deidara, is just another victim in the scheme of Akatsuki's exploits—Madara's exploits—though the other wasn't living the most honest of lifestyles. Who is he to judge another though? That has never been his place. For all his irredeemable sins, sacrificing his own existence seems like the only way to atone. Death still won't grant him forgiveness but at least it might bring an end or ray of hope to the dark times upon them all. Deidara isn't the one to designate when he leaves this world though, for this exchange between them is merely the extent of what he can offer as redemption.

If he were to die now nothing would change. The vicious cycle would continue and probably get worse with the shadow of Madara pulling the strings. In a situation like this he is unable to explain why things must be as they are, which is the reason he didn't fight the hands gripping his throat. If he waits, accepts the blunt force of the man's anger, then perhaps recognition will be enough to emphasize his remorse. Knowing Deidara, if he simply fights back that hold and displays just how in control of the situation he is despite the look of things, there will only be more aggression to anticipate in the future. He just wonders if the blond is keen enough to see the deeper meaning of his submission.

Raging blue hues are blinded, too consumed by the man's disregard of him and his words to notice what those eyes are trying to communicate to him. Though for some reason the intensity of his grasp on the man's throat lessens slightly as he is driven to follow the path leading to those eyes for answers. "I can't stand you, yeah. My artwork has more life than you—always lurking around here like a fucking corpse! Hidan has more life than you, yeah, and he is pretty much dead in a way. Can't exactly call yourself alive when you get stabbed that often, yeah. But you, you go around so lifelessly—it pisses me off—then treat people like me as trash. Remember, I wouldn't be **HERE** if it wasn't for you!" He rants venomously, gradually picking up volume with every word.

Crimson hues vanish behind passive eyelids, hinting suppressed exasperation, as Itachi finally moves his lips to speak in a tight, restrained voice, "How would you have me look at you? The impression of these eyes, fueling your hate, isn't going to change as long as you curse their existence. And I cannot apologize for completing my mission as any other shinobi would do."

There it is again, the pompous attitude driving him insane. He cannot achieve anything like this! Jerking his hands away, the irate blond reacts by violently slapping the stoic man across the face. The sting of the impact leaves a satisfying red mark on the porcelain flesh yet to his utter disappointment and outrage Itachi remains just as unresponsive as ever. "Aren't you going to teach me a lesson? Hit me back, yeah, because apparently I don't have what it takes to be a heartless shinobi like you? Or maybe, you want me to prove it myself, yeah?"

A degree of suspicion weaves into the listless expression on the Uchiha's face, as the man turns to gaze back up at the other with open eyes. Smirking lips greet his movements, Deidara's talented hands reaching to seize his chin in their grasp. Immediately, a warm velvet appendage is tickling his flesh while shocking the poor man into confusion.

"Are you surprised? There are more uses for my hand-mouths than merely molding clay, but I never expected to be sharing this knowledge with you, yeah. But, I think..." He mutters thoughtfully, as he moves his other hand to press down on the man's mid-section before shifting his gripping hand down to the hem of black pants. "Don't move, okay. I'll despise you even more if you fight me."

Despite those strange words, a painted hand latches onto his wrist and draws his attention. "I owe you nothing, but will you be satisfied with this? If we don't come to an understanding..." He states fluidly, only trailing off when heated eyes glare down upon him.

"What are you getting at? I just want to take something from you, something you can't get back, like you took from me. At least, that's how I see it, yeah." Deidara snaps in retort, though truly he has no idea what his intention are at the moment. All he knows is that by doing this he can possibly get a reaction, something to crack that damn indifferent mask. "I'll be satisfied when you're dead, but this will do for now, yeah."

For a long moment Itachi merely stares into the determined blue hues demanding so much more than he planned to sacrifice, until slowly he releases his grip and drops the appendage back to his side. "Very well," Is all he can say in response, as a moist hand-mouth tongue retreats beneath the hem of his pants, teasing his skin in a sinful caress.

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A/N: Feed the author, leave a delicious review.

Like what you've read? Then visit my site for more stories: http: / / daemonsyndrome . blog138 . fc2 . com /


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